“Merle, of course. But why Grace, Mr. Robles? I need not tell you that she is already well provided for.”
“That I fully understand. But I preferred it so. To me both children were very dear, and have always continued to be very dear. There was more than a sufficiency to divide. I wished them to share my patrimony, even though the one might have a greater claim on me than the other. But it was precisely, to guard against such a thought occurring to the mind of any outsider that I have treated Merle and Grace exactly alike. The secret that Merle is my daughter is known only to you and Tia Teresa and me, and, as I have always wished, it must be kept from Merle herself and from all others—now, more than ever,” he added after a little pause.
“I have never sought to pry into this mystery,” replied Mrs. Darlington. “You had valid reasons for it, I well understood. But I was glad for the wee baby’s sake to take her to my heart—the child of the dearest friend of my girlhood days. And it was nice, too, for her to have her mother’s maiden name—Merle Farnsworth. So, from the very first, I loved her just as much as my own baby, Grace.”
“That I know,” said Robles, gratefully touching her hand. “I can never adequately thank you for the mother love you have so generously bestowed on my child. And I have always been grateful, too, for the chivalrous manner in which you have never sought to have me explain my actions in this matter—my virtual separation from the daughter whom, while hiding our relationship, I have loved all through her young life with passionate devotion.”
Mr. Robles was deeply moved. He bowed his head and covered his eyes with his hand. In sympathy, Mrs. Darlington also was greatly affected.
“You have been the best of fathers to Merle,” she said in a trembling voice, “even though Merle little dreams of what she really means to your life. But oh, Mr. Robles, how often have I not pitied you when I have seen you restraining in her presence the natural impulses of your heart!”
“It was my duty,” he replied, regaining his composure by stern self-command and sitting erect again. “My bounden duty to her,” he added, resolutely. “So, as you have so kindly done before, we shall leave that subject alone. You call it a mystery. Be it so. Just let it abide a mystery to the end. Now, Mrs. Darlington,” he went on in a changed tone, “please lock up these papers. If I ever want them again I shall come to you. But if anything should happen to me, the seal is to be broken. You are my trustee. But there is no troublesome will to prove and execute. As I have already indicated, all the property I die possessed of, all the property that is inalienably and rightfully mine, including my home on the hill—everything is already apportioned between Merle and Grace, and stands in their names by a deed that dates back almost to their days of infancy.”
“It is unheard-of generosity,” protested Mrs. Darlington. “I mean so far as Grace is concerned.”
“Not another word, I beg of you. I have already given valid reasons besides those of affection and gratitude. Now, Mrs. Darlington, let me see you lock up these documents, and my mind will be at rest.”
Without further speech she took the packet of papers from his hand, crossed the room, and, standing before a safe inset into the wall and already open, deposited the papers in a little drawer. Then she swung back the safe door, and the click of the combination as she turned the knob told that her visitor’s wishes had been fully complied with. Slowly she returned to her seat at the desk.